As far as I could tell, the door wasn't even locked.
The sound of throat-clearing made me turn once again toward the girls. As I did, the brunette gave me the squinty-eye and said, "I think I know what's going on here."
I was glad somebody did. "Oh yeah? What?"
"You want him all for yourself."
Huh? Her statement was beyond insane. And besides, Jack wasn't the only celebrity in the lounge. For all she knew, I could be working for any one of them.
Or, I could be working for the convention center. The point is, she was assuming far too much.
I forced a laugh. "Don't be ridiculous."
Her gaze zoomed in on the oversized paperback that I held in my hand. She pointed. "So what's that?"
I glanced down. It was a copy of "Swordplay," Jack's first bestseller. It was the book that had made him a household name, not just here in the U.S., but also globally.
I'd purchased the book years ago. It was a special edition, published before the movies had even come out. Unlike recent editions, my book had the original cover, which made it a collector's item, at least the way I saw it.
But I hadn't brought along the book as a trophy. I'd brought it to help kill time during flights and what-not. And, with Jack being so unsociable, it was a good thing I had.
I replied, "It's a book, obviously."
"It's not just a book," she said. "It's his book. You got it signed, didn't you?"
Actually, I hadn't. But the fangirl part of me was seriously tempted. Probably I would've asked for his signature already, if only Jack weren't acting so ominous lately.
I said, "No I didn't."
The two girls exchanged a look. This time, it was the blonde – aka Darbie – who spoke up. "Oh yeah? Prove it."
I glanced down at the book. "Like, what? You want me to show you that it's not signed?"
"You bet your ass I do." Darbie held out her hand, palm up. "Now fork it over."
I drew back. The book was mine, and I had no intention of giving it up. Plus, her attitude hardly inspired trust. So instead, I lifted the book between us and rifled its opening pages. Forcing a smile, I said, "See? No signature here."
"I don't believe you," she said and then – what the hell? – made a mad grab for the book. Her hands closed around the upper half, and she gave the entire book a hard yank.
I refused to let go. "Stop that!" Now I was holding on with both hands, too.
Darbie gave another tug. "No!"
I tugged back. "You can't have it!"
"Oh yeah?" she said with another tug. "Then you can't either!"
I tugged again. "But it's my book!"
"Says you!"
By now, the guys on the outskirts had sidled closer to watch the commotion. Some of them were dressed in medieval costumes, obviously inspired by Jack's books – or the related movies.
As far as the specifics, I didn't know. And I didn't care. All I knew was that the book was mine, and I wasn't letting go.
From the sidelines, a big burly guy, dressed normally in jeans and a T-shirt, called out, "I've got ten tucks on the blonde."
Talk about insulting.
As I gave another tug, I called back, "Oh, shut up!"
"Hey, no need to get offended," he said. "I'm just saying, she's putting a lot more oomph into it."
I'll give you oomph, I thought.
Still, the guy wasn't lying. Darbie was tugging her little heart out and making some sort of low growling noise as she did it.
As for the brunette, she was edging around the both of us, heading casually toward the V.I.P. door.
Without letting go of my book, I yelled, "You know you can't go in there!"
She laughed. "Oh yeah? And who's gonna stop me? You?"
Shit. They were tag-teaming me. I just knew it. With a low growl of my own, I looked back to Darbie and gave one massive tug.
That did it. Suddenly, the book was free.
I stumbled backward of my own momentum and caught my balance just in time to see the brunette make a mad dash toward the forbidden door.
Damn it.
In a sudden burst of inspiration, I turned and smacked the side of her hip with the oversized book, sending her toppling sideways in the other direction.
As she fell, she made a wild lunge for my blouse and held on tight. With a little yelp, I tumbled forward as a horrible ripping noise tore through the sudden silence.
Together, we both hit the floor – with me on top and the brunette underneath. She pushed. I pushed. There might've been a slap or two, and soon, we were wrestling side-by-side on the hard tile floor.
I was pretty sure my blouse was ruined.
But that wasn't the thing that filled me with sudden horror. It was the sound of Darbie calling out from the sidelines, "Oh, my God. It's him. Jack Ward!"
Chapter 23
Becka
I froze. So did the brunette.
Oh, no.
In that brief, horrible moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a chance – any chance at all – that if I could somehow hide my face, Jack might not realize that it was me sprawled across the floor.
I mean, stranger things have happened right?
But of course, that was just desperation talking. So instead, I slowly turned my head toward the door of the private lounge, only to see Jack along with a few other V.I.P.s standing just outside the now-open doorway.
The people around him were watching with expressions ranging from confusion to raw delight.
But not Jack. He didn't look confused or delighted. No. He looked royally pissed off in his own silent sort of way. And oh yeah. He definitely knew that it was me.
Our eyes locked, and his jaw tightened.
I was just wondering if I should give him a little wave or something when a sudden push toppled me from my side onto my back. It was the brunette, who'd leapt up, and with a squeal of excitement, scurried toward Jack as I shakily got to my feet.
Her effort was a total waste. Wordlessly, Jack sidestepped around her and made a bee-line straight for me. As he moved, I glanced nervously around, wondering just how many people had seen that little skirmish.
The answer came in an instant.
A lot.
That's how many.
Jack was wearing a dark sports coat. Without breaking stride, he yanked it off and then draped it over my shoulders the moment he reached me.
As he did, I looked down, only to realize that the front of my blouse was wide open.
Well, that wasn't good.
On the upside, I was wearing a camisole underneath – not that Jack seemed to notice the distinction.
He yanked the jacket shut over my torso and held it shut with one steady hand, even though my arms weren't even in the sleeves.
And then, he turned to the crowd. "Show's over," he said just before turning me toward the open doorway and propelling me forward like I was some sort of ship to be steered in the night.
I dug in my heels. "Wait. My book – where is it?" I looked around. Near the front of the crowd, I spotted Darbie standing with both hands hidden behind her back.
I felt my gaze narrow. I knew exactly what she was hiding. I called out to her, "You took it, didn't you?"
She smiled. "I don't know what you mean."
Oh, yes, she did. That was much was obvious, not that I could do anything about it now. Already, I'd caused far too much commotion for one day.
So with a sigh, I muttered "Forget it," and then let Jack guide me into the private lounge, where I could look forward to a nice scolding and maybe a good kick to the curb as far my employment situation went.
But as it turned out, my expectations were only half correct.
Chapter 24
Jack
Becka was something else, all right.
When we entered the lounge, the place broke into raucous applause. Ignoring them, I kept going, steering Becka toward a private powder room off to the side.
I had an arm wrapped around
her torso as I held the jacket shut with one hand. Yeah, I'd seen the thing she was wearing underneath her blouse, but that didn't mean I liked the idea of strangers seeing more than they should – like the outline of a nipple or the sweetness of her curves.
But I'd seen.
The camisole – or whatever it was called – was thin and lacy, and did a sorry-ass job of hiding things that only a lover should see.
I wasn't her lover. And I planned to keep it that way.
But hell if I'd let strangers ogle her in the meantime.
When we entered the powder room, I shut the door behind us and released my grip on the jacket. I asked, "What the hell was that about?"
She turned to face me. When our gazes locked, she winced. "Actually, it's kind of a long story."
It couldn’t have been that long. She'd been gone for less than fifteen minutes.
I didn't get it. How could someone so small cause that big of a ruckus in that short of a time?
I told her, "Then you'd better get started."
She bit her lip. "Well, you see, they wanted to come into the room—"
"What room?"
"The lounge."
I made a forwarding motion with my hand. "And…?"
"And I knew you wouldn’t want them to."
I gave her a hard look. "So? It's not my lounge."
She drew back, and the jacket opened maybe an inch or two, enough to make me want to look down.
I didn't. Much.
She replied, "Well, yeah. But they were looking for you personally, and acting a little psycho about it, too."
My eyebrows lifted. "Is that so?"
She squinted up at me. "I know what you're thinking."
I doubted that. I was thinking the same thing I'd been thinking for the past two days. And it wasn't good.
Bringing Anna's little sister along on this tour had been a mistake – and not because trouble seemed to follow her wherever she went. It was because I liked her company and the way she looked.
Too much.
And there was nothing sisterly about it.
When I said nothing in reply, she said, "You're thinking that I'm the psycho. Aren't you?"
No. I wasn't.
I'd lived an interesting life and had seen real psychos up close and personal. Becka was an angel compared to them.
I cut to the chase. "You know that wasn't your job, right?"
"What wasn't?"
My shoulders tightened as I considered the potential danger she'd put herself in. "Guarding the door."
"I wasn't 'guarding' it," she said. "I mean, yeah, I ended up sort of guarding it. But really, I'd just gone out to grab a cup of coffee." She tried for a smile. "I asked you if you wanted one. Remember?"
I crossed my arms. "I remember."
But that wasn't the only thing I remembered. When we'd arrived at the lounge not too long ago, there had been a guard at the door. My jaw clenched. Where the hell was he?
I felt a cold rage building deep inside me. Becka, misguided though she was, had felt compelled to do his job, because he'd been slacking.
This wasn't over. Not for me. And not for him.
Becka was still explaining. "And I knew you'd be angry if I just let them waltz in."
Hell, I was angry now, no waltzing needed. "Let's get one thing straight," I said. "Guarding the door, any door – that's not your job."
"Yeah. I know. You already said that."
"Then I'm saying again. If you run into trouble, you get me, okay?"
She sighed. "But that's exactly my point. They wanted me to get you. But I knew that's not what you wanted."
"So?"
"So isn't it obvious?" She fluttered her hands, making the jacket open another inch.
I almost groaned out loud.
Oblivious to what she was doing to me, she continued, "Seriously, look at it from my point of view. Your last assistant – whose name I don't even know by the way –"
"Audrey."
"Fine. Audrey. Anyway, she got fired because she let Imogen get past her."
"That's different."
"It is not," she said. "Look, maybe Audrey wasn't 'guarding the door' personally, but she was guarding your privacy, right? And then, when she failed, you got all mad and fired her with no warning."
"And you know this, how?"
"I heard the phone message, remember?"
"I meant about the warning."
"I know the sound of surprise when I hear it." Her mouth tightened. "Well, between all the sobbing, that is."
On some of this, Becka was right. Audrey had been surprised. She'd been with me for nearly two years, and had been an adequate assistant until this past week. But then, she'd messed up – and more than Becka realized.
I told her, "Surprised or not, she had to go."
Becka frowned. "Can I ask you a question?"
"What?"
"It's not really professional," she warned.
"Are you gonna ask it or not?"
"Well, I'm just curious…You weren't dating her or anything, were you?"
I stiffened. "I don't 'date' my employees."
Becka persisted, "But she seemed really upset, like it was more than losing her job. Were you two friends or something?"
"No. And we're talking about you. Not her."
From the look on Becka's face, she wasn't thrilled with the reminder. "So, I guess you might as well tell me…" She winced. "Am I fired?"
A smart man would've said yes, not because of the recent commotion, but because she was making me feel things, dangerous things that were best avoided.
It made no sense. She wasn't even my type. And, as far as I could tell, she had no idea what she was doing to me, even now.
Her face was flushed, and her lips were full. Her hair was a tousled, sexy mess, like she'd just been rolling around in the sheets.
My sheets.
My bed.
My mistake. For a moment there, I'd almost forgotten who I was dealing with.
So far, I'd been smart enough to keep my distance, but she'd been haunting my thoughts far too often. This wasn't good.
"Well?" she said.
I shook my head. "What?"
She frowned. "Oh, God. I am fired, aren't I?"
I studied her face. "I thought you didn't want the job."
"Yeah, but now that I'm actually here…" She shrugged, making the jacket open another fraction.
I didn't look, but my imagination saw plenty.
Enough was enough.
I told her, "No. But wait here, all right?"
Her face broke into a smile. "So I'm not fired?"
I didn't smile back. "You will be if you leave this room."
Her smile faltered. "Why?"
"Because I'm gonna get you a shirt."
She looked down and stifled a gasp. Using both hands, she yanked the jacket shut and mumbled, "Oh. Right."
No. Wrong. That's what my thoughts were. Very, very wrong.
When she looked up, she said, "But you don't need to get me a shirt. I'll just get one myself. Our hotel room is what? A ten-minute walk?"
Our room.
I liked the way that sounded. And I hated my own reaction to it. My shoulders felt stiff, and they weren't the only thing.
I said, "Your hotel room. Not mine. And not ours."
"Oh. Right." She gave a shaky laugh. "That was just a slip, honest. Of course I know we're not in the same room. Jeez. Who do you think I am, anyway?"
I shook my head. I knew who she was. And what she was.
Pure trouble.
Chapter 25
Becka
The powder room wasn't terribly large, but I was still pacing back and forth.
And why? It was because if I stood still for even an instant, I was pretty sure that I'd try to drown myself in the sink.
What on Earth was wrong with me? I'd just made a total ass of myself, repeatedly.
The incident with those girls was bad enough, but then afterward with Jack, I
'd gotten way too personal with my questions.
And had I stopped there?
No. Not me.
As icing on the cake, I'd apparently flashed him my goodies and then made an accidental innuendo about our sleeping arrangements.
Our hotel room?
Seriously?
Talk about a Freudian slip.
I stopped pacing and squared my shoulders. No more.
From now on, I decided, I was going to turn over a new leaf. No more drooling over him. No more inappropriate questions. And for God's sake, no more fighting with his fans.
I glanced down. And oh yeah. No more flashing him. That was a big no-no. But in my own defense, I hadn't realized my camisole was so transparent.
As I yanked the borrowed jacket tighter around my torso, I said a silent prayer that no one in the crowd had taken pictures – or heaven forbid video – of me in my semi-topless state.
Jack was beyond famous. But I wasn't.
And I didn't want to be, especially for that.
I was still making a mental list of things I needed to improve on when my cell phone rang in the pocket of my skirt. I recognized the ring and felt a surge of relief.
It was my sister. And from her regular cell phone, too.
Finally.
I fumbled for the phone and answered right away. "Anna? Where are you?"
"Miami. Where are you?"
"Atlanta."
She groaned. "So you took the job? After I warned you not to?"
I wasn't following. My sister and I had only talked once during the past few days, and even that conversation had been very brief.
I said, "You warned me? When?"
"On the phone, Monday morning."
"You didn't warn me," I said. "You just asked if it was such a great idea."
"Yeah. That's a warning. And you were supposed to call me back, remember?"
"Hey, I tried." Repeatedly.
"You did not. I waited for like an hour."
I cringed. "Sorry, I got distracted. But I did call, just a little later than I planned. Why didn't you answer?"
Anna sighed. "It wasn't me. It was the satellite phone. I accidentally dropped it."
"Oh, so it broke?"
"More like it drowned," she said with a rueful laugh. "Don't ask. Anyway, that's why we're in Miami – to get a new one, or rather, two new ones, since Flynn wants me to have my own."
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